A Cautionary Tale

It was not a pretty sight, I can tell you that. A bit frightful as well, truth be told. But it provided a valuable lesson. And isn’t that the case with so many unfortunate happenings when you choose to be an optimist and take the good with the bad.  

It happened during my first kayaking outing of the season. My kayaking partner was recovering from a rare arm injury common only to golfers and cricket players (who knew?) called pronator teres muscle strain.  No need to go into great detail about that medical condition which surfaced after a game of golf, but suffice to say that the average length of a woman’s arm is about 14 inches and when we had a look at the injured arm we were shocked to see that all 14 inches had become a concerning black and blue. At the time of the injury I had not been as empathic as I should have been. She did tell me, “my arm is really hurting,” but I couldn’t actually see her bare arm and she wasn’t playing well so I figured it was a bit of an excuse. How awful I felt later when I took a gander at that gangrenous looking appendage and heard from her doctor who said it would take a full 12 weeks to heal. So, with much guilt in my heart, I was intent on being extra kind and careful on this, our next physical adventure.  I effortlessly slid into my kayak first so I could better assist her, but then got all tangled up in some lines and promptly tumbled into the water. Punishment for past sins?  I immediately thought.  We both had a good laugh at my watery landing until I attempted to get back into the kayak. There was a lot of thrashing about as I repeatedly tried to heave one leg over and back into the kayak. But all my efforts proved fruitless and basically only resulted in tipping the unwieldy craft so far from center that it started to take on water. Undeterred, I was onto Plan B and tried, unsuccessfully again, to hoist myself up onto the dock itself.

“You have no upper arm strength,”

my friend kindly offered by way of explanation for my ineptitude. Thank you, I fumed inside. Then I thought, how is this possible?  I could never have predicted this kind of scenario before, but even if I had I would have felt quite confident about my ability to get out of the water and back onto dry land. I am no Navy Seal for sure. But all those gym visits, weight lifting sessions and yoga training should have prepared me for this one little act of self rescue. Confused, if not a little disappointed, I clocked that my head was level with the dock. My chin aligned with the bottom of the dock. AlI I had to do was place my arms above my head and pull myself up. To be fair,  it might have helped if I could have grounded myself on the floor of the river in order to catapult myself skyward.  But it was deep and I had seen the bottom of the river at low tide before and the thought of sinking my feet deeply into what looked decidedly like the eternal resting place for bog men put me off the idea. This predicament served as a perfect example of why smart people – clearly not yours truly- predict potential disaster and take precautions to avoid it. It’s the kind of wisdom that comes with age. Or with children. You’re always looking out for them. Assessing danger and keeping them safe. It became clear to me the universe was acting on my behalf (and that of my fantasy unborn child) when it intervened some years ago to direct me toward a career rather than motherhood. I saw evidence of proper parental planning all around me as I surveyed nearby docks and observed that they all had installed life saving ladders on their docks for their children and for ninnies like me who might need them someday. I had been remiss in my own home.  But in order to take precautions you have to fear the worst. I am an optimist by nature so I only expect a “little bad” not full blown catastrophes which may explain why I, at least, had on a life jacket to prevent drowning but never provided a nearby ladder to hoist myself to safety. So although I was not ill prepared, I could have been better prepared. 

 I now had to consider swimming to a neighbor’s dock to utilize their rescue ladders which would require that I stealthily then walk into their backyard, down their driveway and then out the long way around the river road to get home. Or I could man up, sink up to my thighs in the bog men infested river sludge and make a run, er, crawl for shore. 

 “ You need some help?” 

I am a big believer in mini miracles and there it was. My savior came from next door.  Joy overrode pride. 

“Yes, we need help” my friend yelled before the words were even formed on my lips.

“Yes, please,”

I added and then waited patiently (what else was there to do) while my neighbor calmly made his way over the lawn and onto my dock. Then, like it was the most natural act in the world to save somebody on a Saturday afternoon, he knelt down, firmly gripped me under both arms and quite easily (it seemed) plucked me right out of the water. My relief and gratitude were overwhelming. But I also had the very grown up, newfound realization of my own limitations. We all have them, of course, but rarely do we have an opportunity to come face to face with them. 

I tell this story because I am fearless in so many ways. Except when it comes to physical danger. I would never skydive or bungee jump for instance.  Family members actually once dubbed me “Weanie” for my timidity in the face of bodily risks. But this seemed like such an innocent day on the water where very little could go wrong. Kind of like just momentarily glancing at your phone while driving. Or eating yogurt several days past  its “use by” date. Things can very easily go pear shaped I now see and I am becoming more cautious as a result.

POSTSCRIPT: Yes, I have bought and installed a dock ladder and now cannot wait to thrust myself onto the river once more and get my own bad self out of the water should I ever fall in again.